Killer
by chocolatemooses
Summary: Who can understand a psychopath better than a sociopath? A comparison of two killer's firsts. Kinda Sylar/Elle.


Title: Killer

Author: chocolatemooses

Rating: Strong T, for violence and suicide

Author's Note: This is just my little homage to the awesomeness of this week's episode (PIE!). Spoilers for 3x08 "Villians".

* * *

When she was exactly nine years, four months, seventeen days, twenty-one hours and forty-seven minutes old; Elle decided that if she could only have one thing in this life it would be for another person to understand her and love her despite of everything.

* * *

He was exactly twenty-nine years, four months, sixteen days, eighteen hours, and forty-three minutes old when he gained his first new ability.

Gabriel's head spun as he pulled his hands away from Brian Davis' broken and mangled skull. The iron smell of blood finally broke through the murderous haze that only moments ago clouded all other senses. Gabriel's stomach retched and he couldn't stop himself from vomiting all over, his now blood soaked, floor. The smells and sights of his sick and his murder intermingled in the most macabre way, causing the moist stench of the shop to be unbearable. He ran from the room, unsure if his stomach could take any more.

He flung himself into the corner of his shop, knees curled up to his chin and hair in disarray. He could feel the tears running down his face but the emotions that normally accompanied such a display were halted by horror and disbelief. No sorrow or grief filled his heart, not yet, he was still too shocked by the occurrences of the past hour.

_What have I done? What have I done? _The thought raced over and over in his mind sounding as loud as a drum. Eventually, another thought broke through and joined his mantra in a rhythm reminiscent of a marching band. _What have I done? I am a monster. What have I done? I am a monster._

And Gabriel knew, from the part of him that is horrified by what he has done, that all monsters had to die.

* * *

She was exactly nine years, four months, seventeen days, twenty hours, and thirteen minutes when Elle's daddy woke her from her drug induced coma and, with the help of two somber-looking orderlies, dragged to the "play room".

"Daddy," the small girl moaned, her head still fuzzy from the lithium, "I don't want too. Please, I'm so tired." She begged her father with wide, blue eyes that seemed to swim from the drugs and sleep still coursing through her body. Elle didn't want to play today; her body still ached from the past week and she hadn't sparked without the help of drugs in days. She was beginning to worry, although she would rather die that admit such a weakness to her daddy, that she wasn't special anymore; that she had lost all of the pretty blue sparks that made her father so proud. She didn't want to think about the look on Daddy's face when he realized that she wasn't special anymore. She couldn't bear it.

So, she began to scream and bite and cry against the two men, desperate to keep the terrible truth from her daddy. All her fighting was to no avail though and soon they were in the "play room". Elle clamped her eyes shut, desperately hoping that all of it would go away. The whooshing sound of the doors reached her ears and a burst of cool air conditioning blew her soft blonde hair back into her face. As she was led into the room she began to do something she had only done long ago, the memory locked up in a secret place where a kind blonde woman stroked her head and sang her songs. She did something she would never do again, she prayed.

_Please, God. Don't let Daddy hate me! Let him still love me. Let him think I am special._

* * *

He was exactly twenty-nine years, four months, seventeen days, twenty hours, and fifty-eight minutes old when he decided to kill himself.

It was an idea that had been in Gabriel's head the moment he bashed Brian Davis' head in. It had taken a few hours for the thought to solidify and become something real. It had taken longer for his murder to become something real. But now that it was, now that the reality of his actions truly hit him, the truth bowled him over in a wave of guilt, regret, and disgust.

He couldn't understand how a shred of humanity could be left in him now that he had done such a horrible deed. The world suddenly seemed to have no place for him, no place for a monster like him and he found himself falling head first into a tumultuous ocean of depression and self-hatred. Even the momentary rush of a new ability, an ability that was so fascinating and powerful that Gabriel's head spun in dizzying manner, wasn't enough to alleviate his guilt-ridden conscience.

What else could he do? Gabriel wasn't a killer, not really, he just couldn't help himself; not when the idea of a new power, a new way to be special, was in his reach. He was a normal person, a good person; and any truly good person knows that sometimes bad people have to die.

All there was left to do was buy the rope.

* * *

She was exactly nine years, four months, seventeen days, twenty-one hours, and seven minutes old when she first saw him.

Elle was exhausted, stray bands of electricity rippled off her body and gently scorched the restraints tying her down to the examining board. Because of her exhaustion she couldn't quite trust her eyes, her vision slightly fuzzy from electric overload. He was tall with short dark hair and sweet brown eyes that were framed by a pair of square glasses. Restrained by two orderlies, his face held an expression of fear, anger, and resignation; a look that she would usually find on her face almost daily. He was older than her but far younger than anyone else she had seen in her short lifetime, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Just a boy really. The part of her that held onto that shred of innocence thought he was kind of cute and hoped to God that Daddy had brought her a new playmate. The part of her that got tortured every day knew better than that.

"Da-daddy?" Her voice was hoarse as she spoke and she prayed that Bob would notice and offer her some water or some comfort, anything. He didn't.

"Elle, sweetie." His words were loving but the tone was as brisk and cold as a January morning. "This here is David. Say hi to David."

Her eyes wandered to the boy again. She opened her mouth to speak but her father cut her off. "Ellie, we have a new game for you to play and David is going to play with you." He turned toward the boy, who is now visibly shaking. "Aren't you David."

David began to scream a string of profanities at Bob, Elle, and the scientists that all filled the room. The loud angry words caused Elle to jump and tears formed in her eyes. The two large men holding David silenced him quickly though and after a few moments of fighting he stopped struggling altogether.

Bob, pretending like David's little outburst hadn't happened, turned to his daughter. "Elle," his tone was now as hard as stone, there wasn't even the pretense of familial love in his words, tone, or eyes. "I want you to electrocute David."

Elle's brow knitted into one line of concern. She didn't understand, Daddy had always told her that her sparks were dangerous and she wasn't allowed to use them against people. But now her daddy was demanding that she shocked the cute boy, he hadn't even been mean to her. "Daddy," she began, "I don't understand."

"It's simple Elle. Electrocute the boy when I say go and stop electrocuting him when I say to stop." He was quickly losing his patience and his tone told Elle so. Yet, she still stared at him in confusion.

"I-I really don't want to play this game." She was scared, more than she had been in a long time. "It doesn't sound fun. Please, no more games."

Bob gave Elle a look of sheer disappointment that sent a jolt of desperation straight to her heart. "Hmmm, I guess you are _my _little soldier." Her daddy wasn't happy with her, if she didn't make him happy then he wouldn't love her anymore and if he didn't love her then…well she didn't have a then. Elle couldn't, she wouldn't let Daddy stop loving her. She would rather die first.

"I'll do it Daddy, just please don't be mad. See. Look, look!" She distractedly sent a jolt of electricity toward the boy, his screams and the screams of the orderlies quickly filling the room. Elle stopped almost immediately, the sound of their agony frightening her. Bob smiled down at her, filling her scared little heart with joy.

"That's my girl," he patted her head just like he would do to a good little dog. "Just be careful, we don't want the game to end to soon now do we?"

Elle shook her head, silent tears shaking loose from her blue orbs. Her eyes flitted around the room, looking at everyone and everything but the boy who was hunched over on the ground in pain. "No, Daddy."

"Good girl. Now I want you to up the voltage just a little. Let's see how much David here can take."

Elle didn't answer. She screwed her eyes shut tightly, tears quietly pouring down her face. She took aim and forced herself to ignore the bright blue light that filled the room and the loud screams that roared in her ears.

* * *

He was exactly twenty-nine years, four months, seventeen days, twenty-one hours, and forty-six minutes old when he began to kill himself.

The rope was coiled tight, the knot perfectly formed, the shop empty. A flash of Brian Davis' unseeing eyes flashed in his mind like a lightning bolt and sent a new surge of guilt through him. His resolve strengthened, he stood from his work table, the table he had spent most of his adult life bent over.

Pulling out the chair he hoisted himself up and prepared his final act. His limbs felt weak, his head pounded, and he felt sick. He grabbed the business end of the rope and laced it around his neck, pulling it tightly against his neck.

Just as he was about to kick out the chair from under his feet, an errant thought ran across his mind. It was the same thought that runs through the minds of every person about to kill themselves. _Will anyone care when I die?_ He knew his mother would but who else? He suddenly seemed so small, so insignificant and his heart sank even further, if that was possible. He knew, just as he pushed the chair to the side and felt the rope tighten unbearably around his neck, that his one regret would be that no one else cared. He just wanted one more person to care.

* * *

She was exactly nine years, four months, seventeen days, twenty-one hours and forty-five minutes old when she killed for the first time.

"Okay, Elle, stop. Elle, you need to stop." Bob lost patience and order a man to douse his daughter with water, causing her to scream in pain. "Elle, I told you to stop."

She said nothing. Her eyes remain fixed on the form in the corner of the clean white room. It had once been a man but it was now burnt beyond recognition, looking more like a dead log than a person. She did that. She did that to him.

"Daddy. Daddy." Her voice was small, her spirit was broken, and her mind was breaking. "I-I mean, I didn't want to." Her voice was getting increasingly louder, increasingly more frantic. "Please believe me, I didn't want to. Don't be mad, Daddy. Forgive me." She was hysteric now but her father ignored her completely.

"Elle, stop screaming." He turned to the orderlies whose faces were as stony as ever. "Take her away, I don't need her anymore."

The men released her from her bonds and she immediately broke away, running to her father. She held on him tightly, her tear-stained face buried in his stomach. "Please, daddy, don't say that. Please say you love me. Please say you need me."

He held his arms away from her and looked pleadingly to the guards. "Can you get her out of here," he asked the men pointedly. The nodded briskly and pried her away from her father, she was still screaming for her Daddy, for some comfort from him, for some sign of love from him. He gave her none.

As she was pulled from the room she caught one last parting glance of the dead man. The tears she had been holding back finally poured from her face and blurred her vision. She had killed that man, killed him because her Daddy had wanted her too. And now that she had finished her job Daddy didn't need her anymore. If only he still needed her then she'd be okay, then she'd be able to handle anything because she would always know that her Daddy loved her, that someone loved her. If only.

When she was exactly nine years, four months, seventeen days, twenty-one hours and forty-seven minutes old; Elle decided that if she could only have one thing in this life it would be for another person to understand her and to love her, even if she was a killer.

* * *

When he was exactly twenty-nine years, four months, seventeen days, twenty-one hours, and forty-seven minutes old, an angel saved his life.

And when she was exactly twenty-three years, eleven months, thirteen days, fourteen hours, and twenty-two minutes old, she finally found someone who could understand her.


End file.
